Someone to Bake For
by DarkEchoes91
Summary: For Pantheon, there is no greater glory than victory on the battlefield. But with each passing battle on the Rift, the Rakkor realizes that it is not enough for him. Morgana is loathed by many, loved by none. Immortality is meaningless if there's no one to share it with. These two seen to have nothing in common but looks aren't everything.


Someone to Bake For

A League of Legends Story

 **A/N** \- The idea for this little story comes from a combo of Pantheon's joke/taunt and Morgana's Sinful Succulence skin. I love both of these champions and I think they make an interesting pair, given the one thing they share in common. Feedback and constructive criticism are definitely welcome.

 **A/N 2:** After considering it for a while, I've decided to keep this a one shot. I'm unsatisfied with direction the second and the (unrealeased) final chapter took so until I come up with a better version, it's one-shot city for the moment. Thanks.

 **Disclaimer** \- I do not own League of Legends, its characters, gameplay or any existing lore or stories thereof. These belong to Riot Games.

* * *

Morgana smiled wickedly as images of the Summoner's plan popped into her head. It was reckless and very dangerous, but the payout would be oh so delicious. Willed forth by her summoner, she flashed into the midst of the enemy champions, laughing as she did. They all turned to face her, their faces betraying their surprise at such a bold move.

"Soul Shackles!" she cried, unleashing her strongest spell. The dark chains burst forth from her body, latching onto the enemy champions. Rather than trying to escape, they moved in on her, intending to kill her rather than flee. The Fallen Angel flashed her foes an evil smile before freezing in place, protected by the power of Zhonya's Hourglass.

As his summoner issued the command, Pantheon steeled himself. The trap sprung, the Artisan of War leapt high into the sky, intending to rain death down from above with the Grand Skyfall.

 _Double Kill!_ , the announcer called as Pantheon landed with a hard _thud_ , crushing Draven and Thresh underfoot. His teammate's spell reached its apex, the ethereal binds exploding and stunning the enemy champions still remaining.

Reacting quickly, Pantheon charged forward and leapt at Jarvan IV, the Demacian Prince, attacking him shield first. He followed up the attack with two swift strikes of his spear and Jarvan, unable to defend himself, fell to Pantheon's spear.

 _Triple Kill!_

 _Two more,_ Pantheon counted in his head, turning his gaze to Sona. Freed from the effects of Morgana's spell and her eyes wide with fear, the Maven of the Strings turned, desperately trying to escape. The Rakkor warrior readied his spear and hurled it in her direction.

 _Quadrakill!_ ,the announcer boomed as the spear found its mark.

Alistar was the only one left of his team, already injured and close to death. Pantheon stormed forward, and rather than try to run, the Minotaur barreled towards the Artisan of War, intending to end him. He raised his fist to attack but found himself unable to move or strike; he'd been snared by Morgana's Dark Binding spell.

Pantheon looked back over his shoulder and nodded to his teammate and she motioned him forward, an indication for him to finish off Alistar. Pantheon leapt onto the Minotaur, attacking him with his shield and a flurry of spear strikes, aiming for his enemy's vital spots. The snare wore off and Alistar, so close to death, quickly headbutted Pantheon, trying to get some distance to flee. But it was already too late; Pantheon had readied the spear, expecting the attack. He let if fly and and in a loud voice, he heard it.

 _Pentakill! Ace!_

The battle ended shortly after that. The opposing team of summoners had been so demoralized, they surrendered the match. The game was over.

* * *

 _Why am I here?_ Pantheon questioned, sitting at the table, his plate of food untouched. _There is no glory in battles here, no feeling of triumph._ For his people, the Rakkor, war and battle were everything, the ultimate art form and he was no exception. He was bred for combat, capable with any weapon thrust into his hands.

The Institute of War, ironically named so, opposed his very ideals with its existence. They did not promote war, instead using this _League of Legends_ in place of war, allowing battles to take place with no consequence of death or serious injury.

 _Maybe I made a mistake coming here?_ he wondered.

"I hear you were quite the warrior today, Pantheon," Leona said, sitting down next to him.

He looked over at her, a sad expression across the face still obscured by the helmet he wore. Pantheon considered telling her how he felt, she was the only real friend he had in this place.

Leona cocked her head to the side, curious as to why her friend didn't answer. She rapped lightly on his helmet, trying to get his attention. "Is something the matter?"

"No," he answered, snapping out of his daze. "I am fine."

"I see," Leona replied, keeping her eyes locked on her friend. "I heard you did well in battle today, single handedly taking out an entire team."

Pantheon shook his head. "Morgana set the trap. We would not have been victorious today without her."

Pantheon and Leona talked for a few hours, covering the events of their battles, each excited to hear the other's stories. Time passed quickly as they talked, and night eventually came. The pair parted ways, each heading off in their own direction.

The Rakkor let out an exasperated sigh as he closed his door behind him. The nagging feeling of unrest still bit at the back of his mind and no matter what he did, it would not be shaken. He pulled his helmet off and tossed it aside, allowing his long black hair free.

 _The longer I am here, the more I feel like I am losing myself,_ he thought to himself as he removed his armor. _I feel empty inside._

Though war was his profession and his passion, there was only one other thing that ever took Pantheon's mind off of his problems. He reached over and grabbed an apron off the nearby chair.

* * *

Because of her affiliation with Noxus and her known desire to destroy her sister, there were many at the Institute of War that did not trust Morgana, and fewer still that even liked her. A master of Dark Magic and a demon on the battlefield, Morgana made herself known as one of the most powerful Champions to set foot onto the Rift, someone who wasn't to be trifled with. But there was more to her than that.

Morgana licked the frosting from her fingertips. She'd spent the last few minutes frosting a new batch of treats she had made for no one in particular. Not that she had many visitors anyway. She let out a sigh and then dumped the treats into the trash.

 _It's so...lonely_ , the immortal thought to herself. She didn't care much for other people but she hated being alone all the time. The only thing that ever made her feel _normal_ was baking but even now, that wasn't enough. Morgana wished that there was someone she could connect with, someone she could talk to.

Amidst her sadness, her mind wandered back to the last battle on the Rift. Her and the champion Pantheon had made quite a pair, they and their summoners had made a spectacular play that had won them the game. She remembered something else, too.

" _My profession…!," Pantheon shouted, loud enough for the enemy team to hear. "You know, now that I think of it, I've always wanted to be a baker."_

 _Morgana, Braum and Ashe stared at him incredulously. "What?" the three of them asked in unison, completely surprised as to what they'd just heard._

" _Yes, a baker," Pantheon answered, ignoring his comrades' stares, instead striking one of the monsters inside the Jungle._

Morgana smiled slightly at the memory as she played it over and over again in her head. Maybe it wasn't a joke and maybe, just maybe, she'd found someone she could connect with, even over something as small as baking. She wasn't sure, but she needed to find out.

* * *

"Nothing better than fresh baked bread," Pantheon said aloud, removing his creation from the stove. While he often made jokes about it, he really did love baking, something very few people ever knew about him. Not even Leona, his only true friend, knew that he had a hobby like this.

Tossing the apron aside, Pantheon took a seat, enjoying the scent of the bread, allowing it to cool slightly before taking a piece. He went to take a bite but stopped short, suddenly feeling as though he was being watched.

The Institute of War allowed the Champions free reign when not on the rift, permitting everything except violence amongst the Champions.

 _Surely I won't be held accountable for attacking an intruder,_ Pantheon thought to himself as he slowly took a bite of the bread. _You will rue the day you crossed me._

The attack he expected never came, but he still felt someone watching him. It was very unsettling that he couldn't tell where the intruder was but whoever it was, they were still there.

 _It smells amazing_ , Morgana thought as the scent of Pantheon's bread infiltrated her nostrils. _Guess he wasn't joking after all._

She looked the mortal over, still keeping herself hidden from him. This was the first time she'd seen him without his helmet. _He's very attractive, for a mortal_ , she mused.

The Fallen Angel decided it was time to reveal herself to Pantheon, hoping that they could talk and she could feel something other than bitter loneliness. As she stepped from the shadows, his eyes widened in surprise. She expected maybe a flash of fear or for him to lose his nerve, but even if he was afraid, he didn't show it.

"Good evening, Pantheon," she said softly. He didn't answer immediately, he just eyed carefully, as if he expected her to attack. Her attempt at making friends was not going so well. "I did not come here to harm you. I just...wanted to talk."

The Artisan of War seemed to relax at her statement. "What is it you want to talk about?" he asked, moving straight to the point. "I did not think you the social type."

 _No one ever does_ , she lashed out angrily in her head. "I did not think you serious about being a baker, either," she replied curtly.

He was taken aback slightly by her sharp tone but he kept his composure. "I suppose you and I were both incorrect."

"Indeed," Morgana agreed. She walked over to where he was sitting and glanced over at the freshly baked bread. "It smells amazing, by the way."

"Thank you," Pantheon said, cracking a small smile. "Would you like a piece?"

Morgana nodded eagerly. Pantheon broke some of the bread and passed some of it to her. She brought it up to her lips gingerly and took a small bite. After a few moments, she had devoured the entire piece.

"That was amazing," the immortal beamed. She caught Pantheon staring at her, an odd expression plastered across his face. "Is something wrong?" she questioned.

"No," he answered. "That was the first time I have seen you smile. It was...nice."

Morgana's face felt hot. _What is this feeling, this warmth?_ she asked herself. The immortal turned away, sure she was blushing; she was unsure of what was happening to her but she felt different, happy even.

"You never did tell me what you wanted to talk about," Pantheon said, snapping her back to reality.

The Fallen Angel coughed into her hand, trying to regain her composure and turned back around. "Perhaps it would be better if I showed you. It is hard to explain."

* * *

Pantheon was stunned. He couldn't find the words to describe what he was seeing in front of him. Morgana, often viewed as one to avoid, had asked to speak with him and what she had shown him altered his perspective on her. She, much like himself, loved to bake. He'd seen her many times on the Rift, wearing an outfit that suggested she was a culinary specialist but he never would've believed it to be true.

"Well, say something," Morgana folded her arms.

"I do not know what to say," the Rakkor answered, still in shock.

Morgana's temper started to rise. _I should not have bothered to show this to him_ , she fumed mentally. _How is it that he cannot accept this when does the same thing!?_

Pantheon caught the look in Morgana's eyes and knew she may be misinterpreting his surprise. "Morgana, you misunderstand," he said, raising a hand. "My disbelief comes from...well...I did not think there was anyone else at the Institute who liked to bake."

"Is it hard to believe that I could like something such as baking?" she asked, her arms still folded.

"It is not that," he said, shaking his head. "Why tell me this?"

It was a loaded question and Morgana knew it. She bit her lip, trying to think of what way it could be worded without making things more awkward than they were.

"The truth is," she started, letting out a sigh. "I am always alone. I don't connect with anyone in the League and most people avoid me because of... _her_."

Pantheon nodded, knowing who she was referring to. He didn't answer but waved his hand, allowing the Fallen Angel to continue.

"I love baking and when I heard your comments during the last battle, I thought," she paused for a few seconds, unable to figure out how to say what she wanted. "I thought maybe we could bake together...and be friends."

"I see," he answered. _She is not at all like what I thought she was_ , Pantheon mused internally. "I would like to share something with you, too."

Morgana did not answer, merely nodding her head, allowing the Artisan of War to speak without interruption.

"My people, the Rakkor, live for the thrill of combat, the rush that comes with true, near death experiences," Pantheon explained. "When I first learned of this place, I questioned how something could like the League be formed without the Rakkor, the strongest warriors in all of Runeterra. So, without hesitation, I joined, seeking true combat and the rush it brings."

Morgana continued to listen, taking note of a small glimmer of sadness in Pantheon's eyes. Much like she had done, he was sharing things with her that no one else could know. Or even understand.

"Soon after, I realized that I would not find what I was looking for. Combat in the League means little, especially when death does not matter. And that thought has plagued me for many days and nights." He stared directly into the immortal's eyes. "This is why I bake. Because I have nothing else that makes me feel... _alive_."

As Pantheon finished, Morgana's eyes widened in surprise and understanding. He had chosen to share with her for almost the same reason; there was something missing in both of their lives, something that very few, if any, could truly understand.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what else to say. Finally Morgana spoke up. "Pantheon, would you like to bake something with me this evening?"

"I would love to," he answered with a small smile. "Let me grab my apron."

And so, the Artisan of War and the Fallen Angel became the most unlikely of friends. Pantheon, unfulfilled by his battles in the League found someone to confide in, to ease the feelings he'd been hiding for a while. And Morgana found someone who would make the painful loneliness disappear. But, more importantly, she found someone to bake for.

 ** _fin_**


End file.
